


Minerva of the Golden Mask

by Palabragris



Series: Saint Seiya: Female Saints Legends [2]
Category: Knights of the Zodiac - Fandom, Saint Seiya
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Explicit Language, Female Protagonist, Gen, Illustrations, Multi, Nudity, POV First Person, Post-Canon, Rating: M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24436294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palabragris/pseuds/Palabragris
Summary: To whom may read this, know that my name is Minerva, who wore the Libra Cloth to fight against the Sanctuary in the name of the Ekecheiria, seeking for Justice in the world Athena Saori left for us after daring defying the Gods. Labeled a «Traitor» by Pope Virgo Shun and condemned to a Divine Punishment of eternal solitude, I promise this: After two hundred years of civil war and Olympian dominion of our Flooded World, I will not let them forget neither my sisters nor me.These are my last words, my Testament. The last defiant act of Minerva, the Bearer of the Golden Mask.
Series: Saint Seiya: Female Saints Legends [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961557
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue: TRAITOR - Act I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this story. This is my second try at translating one of my works into English. I've tried as hard as I can to avoid as many grammatical mistakes as possible, but if you see any that I'm not aware of, I'd be very grateful if you could let me know. Thanks. Please, enjoy the reading!
> 
> Regarding "M" Rating: This story has been conceived for readers above the age of 16. Adult situations, physical and psychological violence, nudity and explicit language and other themes are present. The rating has been chosen accordingly.
> 
> Update (10/08/2020): Replaced the header on the first Intro. This is a little less ugly.

**MINERVA OF THE GOLDEN MASK  
**By I. S. Grancelli

* * *

**PROLOGUE  
**TRAITOR  
~The Testament of Minerva~

«To whom may read this, know that before you lies the Testament of Minerva,  
the bearer of the Golden Mask…»

* * *

Adara taught me everything I know,... 

...But she never prepared me to die...

**I**

And now I’m here, bleeding defenseless. But my enemies stand before me with their dazzling magnificence. Their Cosmo invade me as if it was the very Universe. That’s why I comprehend this is my last day in this miserable world. I will fall here today.

Pope Shun, the Legendary Bronze Saint who has inherited the Constellation of the Virgin, the same who gave me hope when lost everything as a child, watches me without blinking an eye. I can see in his face a resolution that shares the same deepness than his sadness. His eyes tell me he won’t stop to anything and that when he takes my life he will lament it wholeheartedly, wishing deep inside that everything was different. And I also see the Saints standing alongside him —in times past my comrades-in-arms, even if now they’ve labeled me a «traitor». And I despise them for that, because I only tried and failed to find justice in this world of waters. I have earned the hatred they look at me with, even if just few days ago I was the most faithful follower of the main desire of Athena, _their_ Goddess: Peace and Justice on this Earth after more than two hundred years of civil war.

To my feet lie the golden pieces of the Cloth of Ballance, who’s finally abandoned me. Maybe I’m not of any use for it anymore, maybe it just despises me because of my desertion. It doesn’t matter. After all, it was never really mine. Surrounding me are its twelve weapons of gold, damaged and quiet. I feel something hits me on my bare foot and when I look down I discover the golden mask looking back at me, cracked in the cheek under the eye by a little notch that reminds me of a tear. And I think it’s fitting. It’s alright a part of me cries for all this. I kneel slowly, aware that any of the Golden Warriors could strike me while I lower my guard in such a fashion, and I take the mask with one hand. I grab one of the Libra Swords with the other. I feel its Cosmo rejecting me, but I press on, even if it burns my hand. It’s like a rabid animal trying to get rid of its old master.

My rebellion as ended in failure, that’s for sure, but if I’m dying here, confronted against those I swore to protect and who I betrayed for a more righteous world, then I’ll die my way, under my own discretion, following my own believe of what is Justice. Fuck those Saints! To hell with Athena and the rest of the Gods! If my sisters’ blood stain my hands, theirs are soiled by the blood of the entire humanity.

I breath out as I stand up in all my height —every eye watching my every move— and in a last defying act I stare back at my former comrades. I give them my best smile as I start to focus. The Universe expands around me. Hundreds of thousands of millions of years since the all-starting Big Bang Explosion surround my soul as I burn that Cosmo they are so frighten of. I open my mouth to confront them. I’m not sure of what I say but by the hostility in their eyes and the tension on their bodies I know I hit the mark. Finally, it’s time.

I rise my head looking at all of them directly. I want them to remember my eyes when I lie death —eyes as blue as the sea that punishes the world we swore to protect; eyes as blue as those of Goddess Athena herself. Thinking of her I fit my golden mask to my face; my last defiance. I feel its coldness when the metal touches my skin and I smell the stellardust as it fills my nostrils. What I don’t feel is rejection: it’s the only piece of Cloth that keeps its faith in me. I firmly grasp the sword above my head and I hold my breath. I release the air just a moment after I leap towards my enemies. My Cosmo burns. Intense. Deep. Strange. I don’t remember if I scream or not. I wish I did, it’d make me seem more savage. Savage to Goddess Athena, who must be watching me from her seat at Mount Olympus. As I jump to my death I wonder if she pities me. Or maybe if she thinks that with my blood true Justice can be created…


	2. Prologue: TRAITOR - Act II

****

**II**

A well planted kick forces me back to my senses. The pain makes me roll back and forth on the floor, coughing for air as those who hurt me laugh at my expense. I glare at them with a half-open an eye: two men, each carrying a stick made of dark wood, both wearing leather protectors with the circular emblem of the eagle with open wings, the same emblem used by the last Athena at the top of her golden crosier; the attire of the Ekecheiria guardsmen.

“What are you looking at, huh?!” Spits one of the men after realizing I’m looking at them.

He’s drunk and his voice sounds hoarse and brave as he kicks me again, in the face this time. It’s so painful that I roll over myself. I end up laying down on my side facing a wall of rusty shades, a good quantity of blood coming out from my mouth. I’m amazed. The strike of a mere soldier shouldn’t be this painful, but my head spins and I can’t help but squirm in this disgraceful position.

I hear his companion laugh with the same drunk voice. It’s incredible how low some men can fall when given a little of power. It’s incredible how low the Ekecheiria and their servants have fallen.

“And this bitch was a Gold Saint?!”, the other man laughs.

I turn my head over the shoulder to face him just as he pushes his companion aside to strike me in the arm with the wooden stick. I don’t want to show them any weakness, as in my life I’ve been attacked by people far stronger than him, but the blow is so painful I can’t help but let out a howl. And even then their laughter echoes higher above my scream. They like my weakness and are willing to enjoy it as much as they can.

“A Gold Saint?”, gloats the other. “This _traitor_ was no Gold Saint. Didn’t you know?”

He gets approaches me with loose steps, feeling victorious, and stretches an arm to force me up, but at the last second he reconsiders it and takes me by the shoulder, making me lay on my back. Then he grabs the collar of the tunic I’m wearing, the only piece of cloth covering my body, and pulls down hard to tear it open.

“She’s just a impostor that stole a Gold Cloth!”, he gloats.

I can smell the stench of alcohol coming from his mouth as he laughs before licking his lips, his eyes helplessly caught by the sight one of my breasts that’s been exposed.

“Oh!”, the other man laughs. the same pathetic voracity in his voice. He also approaches me, grinning in such a way that makes him look ridiculous. “Then it’s us, the people from the Ekecheiria, who should punish her and not those guys that guard this place! Stealing a Cloth is a serious sin against the True Pope…” He’s about to drool all over himself.

“You’re right!”, his companion seems to agree as he gets on top of me.

He tries to unfasten the ties of the leather protectors on his chest and shoulders, but his fingers are clumsy and chubby. He also makes the mistake of taking out his helmet; I will remember his features when I remove his head.

“We may not be Saints, but we’re bound to defend out Pope’s honor!”

“That’s right!”, says the other as they both burst in laughter.

Without him noticing, which isn’t hard at all as he’s still distracted with my exposed breast, I stretch the fingers of my right hand, ready to rid his jugular open. But just at that moment his companion lets out a high-pitched shriek, which is followed by the sound of a plunk. I recognize it almost instantly. It’s similar to the sound of a nut breaking open in your hand. The sound of a human skull getting smashed against a stone wall sounds eerily similar.

“Who the fu—?!”

The guy above me panics as he turns his black eyes towards his companion. I feel revulsion when something warm soaks my stomach. This asshole his pissing himself all over me! I squirm as an animal to get rid of him, but this disturbing feeling of weakness bests me again. I can’t move him an inch! Luckily, a force pulls him up and throws him hard against the closest wall. His head smashes the stone and he falls slowly to the floor scratching the wall’s surface with his face, drawing a thick red line of blood on the stone as he falters. This gives me a moment to analyze my current situation: somehow I’m still alive, but I’ve lost my freedom and now I’m trapped in some kind of cell. Those guys were my prison guards? Am I still at the Ekecheiria?

“Are you okay?,” asks the man who saved me.

As I’m lying on the ground, I’m forced to take my eyes way up to meet his face. But I can’t help but smile at the sound of his deep, monotonous voice.

“What are _you_ doing here?” I ask back as I stand up. Every muscle of my body complains after the beating. This isn’t normal at all.

“I was allowed to pay you a visit. I was worried something could happen to you here. I’m glad I made it in time.” He says with gravity while pushing aside the body of one of the guardsmen to get closer to me.

I have to contain my laughter. I’m still amassed that a giant of his size can show that kind of affection while not moving a muscle on his face. But Kenshiro has always been of quiet and taciturn nature; he’s just that way and maybe that’s the reason I can trust so much in him.

“T-Thanks.” I manage to say with difficulty as I take off the torn and wet tunic while my muscles cry out in pain, “but if you hadn’t come I’d taken care of those guys myself…”

“You were trying to go for his jugular, but it would’ve been useless… Oh—”, he interrupts himself as he lays his eyes on me for the first time. “I’m sorry.”

He looks away promptly, blushing noticeably. It’s obvious this situation makes him feel uncomfortable, even if his face remains impassive below those thick, dark eyebrows of his.

“It’s nothing,” I say as I throw the tunic away. “This isn’t the first time you’ve seen me naked.”

Kenshiro shakes his head. His eyes fixed on the wall in front of him, refusing to look at me.

“That’s not it.” He says with severity before pointing out to his own face with one finger.

It’s then that I notice.

I instinctively touch my face just to discover that my mask is gone. This whole time my face has been exposed. My body shivers as I blush. I’m completely naked in some kind of prison, but for a Female Saint that’s nothing compared with letting anyone seeing your face. I clench my teeth, unconcerned by my nudity as I walk towards the guardsmen to finish them off. They are just some centimeters away, motionless on the floor. Of them, the only one who can still be recognized as a human being is the man who wet himself over me. His body remains discarded next to the wall closest to the only door inside this stone cubicle. His limbs form an unnatural arch, but he’s still breathing. His companion, on the other hand, is now a mixture of muscles and blood, with his head still stuck in the wall where Ken smashed him. I kneel before the man who assaulted me and then I squeeze his neck with my hand, trying to suffocate him. But I fail. Once again I feel this weakness. The muscles of my arm refuse to answer and my strength isn’t enough.

“What the hell is going on here?!” I’m fell so pissed and humiliated that I can barely control the pitch of my voice, which I let out in an exasperated scream.

“You’re not the only affected.” Ken tells me as he covers both my naked body and my exposed face with a blanket, possibly from my cell’s bed.

“You too?” I ask and I know him so well that I know he nods behind my back.

I shiver again, realizing that my troubles are far worse than what I thought at first. Ken walks by my side and also kneels before the guardsman I’m trying to kill. He moves aside my hand with a gentleness totally unexpected for someone of his size and by sheer muscle-strength he strangles the half-unconscious man. The poor guy can only shake a little before dying.

“It’s done.” Says Ken as he looses his hand. A red marking now tattoos the pale skin of the dead guard’s neck.

We stare at the other man at the same time and just by looking at him we understand there’s no need to kill him. I’m tempted to laugh, but every muscle in my face is numb.

“Won’t you have trouble for this? Those men were under the orders from the Pope.”

“No. Besides, Lord Shun himself mandated that no mortal was allowed to touch you. Even if I hadn’t do anything, those men were already dead.”

“You saw my face. Must I love you or kill you, too?” I banter, more to calm myself than anything else. “You know the law.”

“I prefer you do neither one nor the other,” he sighs and in his voice I can notice both sweetness towards me and concern about my fate. “I don’t want to die by your hand and you’d waste your love in someone who couldn’t reciprocate you. You know who I am.”

“It’s true…” I say with dubious voice, the shivers becoming unbearable. It’s been a very long time since I was this afraid.

“Minerva…” I hear him whisper as he embraces me in an attempt to give me comfort. I’ve always said he’s far too kind to have a bear as his guardian constellation. Though he does have a bear-sized body, that’s not open for discussion.

“And Jamir?” I ask as I lay my head on his chest. He answers with silence; I knew he would do that, but it still surprises me how painful it is. “Ken,” I say and I find it difficult to breathe, “you must get me out of here.”

“I can’t.” He says. Dammit, I knew he’d say that. “If I try we’ll both die.”

“But they’re nothing more than soldiers and you are Silver Saint! I even wore a Gold Cloth! We shouldn’t have any trouble!”

He shakes his head. We both know I say those things just to give me some hope.

“You’re not being guarded by Ekecheiria guardsmen, Nerva.” He says sadly. “To protect the Earth, Lord Shun left you under the custody of the Olympian Guards. Not even us, the Saints of the Ekecheiria, can face them without increasing humanity’s debt towards the Gods. I’m not sure even the Gold Saints are powerful enough to face them in this place. Besides…”

He extends a hand with the palm facing upwards and closes his eyes so that he can focus. But I know he does that just to try and convince me, because now I know exactly what’s going on. I raise my eyes releasing a fearful sigh. I’m not surprised to find an square opening on the ceiling of my cell. The stars reflecting a sad brightness from the other side. Then, just to confirm my suspicion, I look at the windowless stonewalls and I identify the material they are made of: orichalcum. Some moments pass and Ken closes his hand. Nothing has happened.

“We can’t…” he starts.

“…burn our Cosmo.” I finish and a last shiver crosses through my whole body.

“Give me a while,” says my friend, maybe the only friend left for me on this world. “I’ll find you a change of clothes.”

But when he gets to leave the cell I quickly take his hand, stopping him.

“My mask.” I tell him, my face hidden as I look to the floor. “Forget the clothing and bring me back my mask!”

Kenshiro doesn’t say a word, he just nods in agreement. I know he may think I’m exaggerating, but a Male Saint could hardly understand the need I feel to survive my eternal punishment with all the pride I’m able to muster. Because I am at the Heaven Prison, the celestial equivalent of the Tartarus that lies beyond the Hades; a prison built under command of the Gods following the Olympian Pronouncement to teach humanity their place and make us submit to them; where any glimpse of Cosmo is inhibited and where those who have dared to burn it are punished with an eternal life of solitude, so that they can be made an example for the rest of the world, and especially for the Saints. I hold Kenshiro’s hand more tightly, finally understanding that his presence there with me there isn’t a showing of kindness or pity from the Their Deities, but another part of my torment, because once his visit ends I know he won’t be allowed to ever come back to me again and I’ll have all the eternity to yearn for his face, or for the face of any other person I may have loved. Such is the effort the Gods have dispensed for me; such is the gravity of my sin for them.

As if he knew what I’m thinking —and I know he does—, Ken places his other hand over mine and press it tightly to share with me his warmth. But he doesn’t look at me in the eyes and I understand that if he doesn’t it’s not to save me from the humiliation of seeing my naked face, but to prevent my last memory of him being his eyes filled with tears.


	3. Prologue: TRAITOR - Act III

****

**III**

How long I’ve been here? I stopped keeping the track of time after my ninth month of confinement. I haven’t seen anyone since Kenshiro left through that door leaving behind the mystery of what could have happened to my mask as he couldn’t find a trace of it in the end, no matter how hard he tried. And though I miss it, I understand its losing also makes part of the Gods’ desire to humiliate me for my sin. Not even the dead bodies of the Ekecheiria guardsmen accompany me in this confinement, as they became dust long ago and dispersed through the opening on the ceiling. I’m left to assume that even than was another part of their Divine Plan, so than nothing could distract me from my solitude. But those men were lucky: Unlike me, they could enjoy a quick death. Sometimes I wonder if I should feel a little lucky myself, because even if my mask is gone, Ken could find another tunic for me. At its prime it looked pristine, but now it’s little more than a yellowish fabric frayed at the edges, providing close to no defense against the elements.

Though I must be very high in the sky, from my cell I can hear the sounds of the sea with clarity and the smell of the humid salt reaches me with every breathing. The Gods are ruthless and they know the constant presence of both the sound and the smell remind me of the freedom they have taken away from me. A freedom I tried to take back during my first days here, even if I knew it was pointless. I tried to use that strength I once had —in what now feels like a life lived by another person— to free myself, but whoever built this cell knew what he was doing: the strain of orichalcum used in the stone was brought here from the very Olympian Dimension, blessed by the very same Gods that have doomed our world, and its divine properties inhibit my connection to the Universe every living being has inside: the Cosmo. For my sin, I’ve become the accomplished desire of the Gods, the most clear example of the world they have longed to create since the Age of Myths; a world where us mortals are mere servants, little more than harmless pets wagging their tails to their every requests.

But even if from here I can hear and smell the sea, it’s impossible for me to see it. The only connection I have with the outside world is the square opening on the stone ceiling, and though it lacks any bars to prevent me from escaping, this place is designed to snatch away any strength within you. Not even in my first hours here I managed to reach it by jumping, much less now that I’m little more than a pitiful disaster. Besides, that opening is just a delusion to give you some solance; the worst part of the punishment. During the night, the cold enters my cell through it making it impossible to sleep. And even if at first I tried to resist the suffering by practicing some old exercises Adara taught us when we were children —looking for shelter in the stars by focusing all my attention on their shinning or by remembering old legends to distract my mind from the suffering—, I stopped doing any of that long ago; the stars and their light, just as my Cosmo, have lost any meaning for me and just make me remember everything I’ve been striped of.

But the worst comes at daylight. From dawn to late in the afternoon the sun remains at the top of the sky, unmoving, filling my cell with a suffocating heat that worsens because of the humidity in the air. Also, its brightness is so blinding I can’t look up and I’m sure the Gods planned that beforehand to remind me of my place before them. It’s so hot inside this cell I spend the whole day sweaty, making me feel nasty and deprived. There’s no doubts in me: if this cell was built to humiliate whoever has the misfortune of falling in here, they’ve done an excellent job with me.

But to show their magnanimity, the Gods have also imposed that their prisoner can’t die by starvation. As if I could die! Twice a day a mysterious being brings down a basket with sweet wine, fresh fruit and bread through the ceiling. At first I ate everything diligently trying to stay strong as I planned my escape. Now it’s not unusual that I leave the food untouched until it rots in a corner before becoming dust and flying away. Sometimes I even wonder if the food is real or if it’s nothing more than some crazy delusions my mind has created to cope with this solitude. Whatever the case, why eat if I’ve abandoned the idea of leaving this place? Why look for energies if not even fasting for an eternity I will die? The only use this food has is to feed the hope that maybe, just maybe, it’s not my fate to remain here, that I still have a choice. Such is the ‘magnanimity’ of the Gods.

However, in time I’ve started to understand their ways, why they are so ruthless with those who offend them: It’s clear they learned their lesson after the Bronze Saints went to the Heavens and knocked to their doors; a lesson we’re all paying for and I’m scrawny, moribund example of that…

And today is just another day in my punishment. As I’m laying on my back against the stone floor of my cell, the sun above me feels as scorching as always and I don’t even have the strength to look for shelter under the shadow of the few pieces of furniture left in here; their wood rotten by the constant exposure to the humid marine salinity in the air. As I always do when I have free time —meaning, the majority of the time—, I start wondering once again what would Adara think if she could see me like this; what would my sisters think of the oldest of them living among her own wastes. I don’t think my sister Pallas would have ever imagined to see me like this. And I wonder what do the Saint of the Ekecheiria think of what I’ve done; and worse, I can imagine what the Saint of the Sanctuary think about all this. To hell with all of them! Two centuries of civil war and division and they are still willing to keep fighting against each other meanwhile the Gods laugh to our misfortune! Because I _know_ they do! I _know_ they want me to disappear here so that the fate my sisters and I shared becomes just a memory that must also be forgotten! Just as they want _me_ to be forgotten.

This is not fair…

There is no justice here…

This isn’t the Justice the Libra Cloth told me about…

The same as I, my sisters came to this miserable world just to suffer because of Athena, and suffer we did. We are still suffering to this day. Can I let their legacy to be so easily forgotten? Can I let their memory to rot alongside my body?

No…

I won’t allow the world to forget them so easily.

It’s time to show some defiance.

I stand up the best I can. My body feels heavy as I no longer have the strength I once had. My legs tremble as I use their battered muscles to move my bare feet towards the putrid table. I move my tired eyes from one wall of the cell to the other looking for an idea, for something that would let me preserve a legacy that could disturb and insult the Gods. And that’s when I see it.

Even if it’s been with me this whole time, this is the first time I pay any attention to the dark line of dried blood that the guard left behind when Kenshiro protected me and I can almost let out a laugh as I wonder why I didn’t think about this before. I walk towards it and touch it with one finger. It’s no use. The blood has blended with the stone and it won’t help me with what I’m planning to do. However, I can feel the tears flowing from my eyes. It may be silly, but I can feel my friend supporting me, I can remember the warmth of his hands over mine. Exhausted, I lean my forehead against the bloody wall as I allow myself to cry. It’s ironic that the first step I take towards regaining my strength consists of allowing me this thing that at any other moment I’d have considered a weakness.

“Thank you, Ken…” I say to myself and it’s been so long since I muttered a word that my voice sounds rough, soring my throat. But it’s a tolerable pain, though now I’m crying and coughing. It must be a pathetic sight.

I give myself a moment to recover and though the mixture of heat and the humidity on the air make me feel rather confused, I manage to look for any contraption that could serve me as a chisel. At first I find nothing, but then I notice the spot where Kenshiro crashed the other man, the damage of his head crushing against the stone can still be seen on the wall’s surface. I have to force myself to walk towards it and when I finally reach the spot I insert my fingers inside the hole, searching for something useful. My efforts are in vein at first, but I insist and after rummaging for a while I can finally feel a piece of stone detaching from inside the hole. I use some force to snatch it out and we both fall to the floor when it lets go. I’m surprised it worked. The orichalcum is known as one of the harder materials to break because of its divine nature. Suddenly I realize I’m openly laughing, with my face again facing the sunlight that enters through the ceiling as I fell on my back. Now I’m crying and laughing. A pathetic sight, indeed.

I turn around on myself with the few strengths left in me and crawl towards the westernmost wall of my cell. I use it to help me stand up and when I reach a good height I try scratching its surface with the orichalcum shard. The first try does nothing to the stone, as it seems unmoved by my efforts. My second try does better, as I push the shard harder, scratching the stone by just some inches, enough to leave a mark on its surface of a rusty shade of orange. I smile openly, feeling a strange sense of victory after so many time lowering my head. And with that smile I give myself the luxury of looking up directly to the sun. The light blinds me, but for the first time in so, so long I feel I’m doing something that makes the Gods feel uncomfortable: I’m showing them a slice of the defying spirit that characterized me in the distant past. If they expect my legacy to disappear with me, they’re up for a last slap on their divine faces, because I’ll engrave my story down so that anyone can read it on these eternal walls. I have stone brushes to draw every word and ample walls to use as my canvas.

I laugh again with my eyes fixed on the sun as I let the whole weight of my body fall against the wall. Suddenly, the faces of my sisters come to my mind. If they could see me they’d think I’ve finally gone mad, and they may be right. But even so, it will be here that I’ll write our story, so that the world knows, even if I have to write it down in this hidden, lost place. I turn around to hit the surface of the wall as hard as I can with the shard, scratching it again. I know where to begin. It’s not easy no forget the moment when the wheels of fate started to move, screwing your entire life away…

_«To whom may read this, know that before you lies the Testament of Minerva, the bearer of the Golden Mask, who achieved the rank of Saint at the Ekecheiria and who fought for a false Goddess wearing the Gold Cloth of Libra, labeled a traitor by those who refuse to see the injustice in this world and condemned to live an eternity of solitude under the Divine Punishment. To whom may read this, know that I have lost everything because of Athena, the Goddess who, along with her Legendary Saints, dared to defy the Gods.»_


End file.
